


three a.m.

by pixelz



Category: NCT (Band), WayV (Band)
Genre: M/M, No Plot/Plotless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-07
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2020-03-05 08:53:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18825340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixelz/pseuds/pixelz
Summary: Yangyang stirs, and knows it’s three o’clock in the morning because his roommate climbs down in his wakefulness like clockwork.





	three a.m.

**Author's Note:**

> i have no idea who else are roommates in wayv before they debuted. i wrote this because of [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E9P2zGRIYF8) and [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lyHVy9K0t5o), where yangyang and xiaojun say they’re roommates and they share a bunk bed. also, lots of talk between characters regarding pre-debut jitters because i _just_ love exploring that.
> 
> this is set before debut, nonetheless. i’d like to think all of wayv shared a dormitory by the time rumors of them had gone out. it’s complicated ’cause i know winwin was still a 127 member in simon says era (nov 2018) but like, whatever.
> 
> **just a heads up** they sort of not communicate well in this story and i intended that.

 

The bunk bed trembles again. Yangyang stirs, and knows it’s three o’clock in the morning because his roommate climbs down in his wakefulness like clockwork. He thinks it’s trips to the bathroom, but he doesn’t really care. All he knows is that Xiaojun slips away into the crack of light that disappears once the door is shut.

Yangyang peers through the length of his lashes, to the dark hollowness of the room. The moonlight is pale blue against the translucent shutters. It is picked up by the strands of the older guy’s hair, giving it a soft blue sheen that makes him look otherworldly. Almost a phantom.

There’s a bit of a struggle Xiaojun puts up with to steady himself after his feet lands on the cold floor. Yangyang almost snickers, but he doesn’t. Dim pale light from the window cuts across Xiaojun’s face, stiff and groggy. He dons his slippers before walking out.

Yangyang grunts then buries his nose on the pillow until he drifts off.

 

 

 

It’s only been a few weeks since they were thrown in a group, and were lumped together in one room.

“Are you going somewhere later?” Xiaojun asks, without lifting his eyes from a page of a pocketbook. It’s more to glean ideas for his songwriting, and less to keep himself busy. He also likes the feel of words; he decides they’re like fine sand against skin.

Yangyang slips into his shirt. His hair drips, so he dries it with the towel again, and answers, “I’m probably going to get ice cream.”

“It’s thirteen degrees outside,” says Xiaojun matter-of-factly. The days have been colder and drier in Seoul, and it’s already the first week of December. Kun has been boiling hot water for their drinks in the mornings since the water dispenser malfunctioned and hasn’t been repaired.

“And you take yourself too seriously,” Yangyang scoffs, hanging his towel on the rack. “I’ll probably just play League all day. I don’t know.”

They’re off work today, so they don’t need to hurry to SM building. Their shoot for the music video of Regular was completed two days ago. It somehow hasn’t sunk in that they are finally debuting soon, but it’s not like being part of SMRookies has worn off it’s surreal feeling yet.

Xiaojun ignores the remark, smacks his lips, and as if he just remembered, mutters, “We ran out of _lao gan ma_.”

“What?” Yangyang asks loudly as he sticks a cotton bud into his ear.

“The chili sauce,” repeats Xiaojun with a patient drawl, “I think I’m heading to the grocery later.”

Yangyang chuckles, “Is that an invitation?” He chucks the Q-tip to the bin. Xiaojun’s weird sometimes; he has this roundabout way of getting to the point, and he speaks lines from books out loud, like when someone hums a tune that’s been stuck in their head without noticing it.

“Never mind,” sighs the older guy.

 

 

 

Yukhei towers over Xiaojun and his insoles, so he plucks the large carton of cereal off the top shelf and drops it to the cart.

They’re nearly done with the list Kun provided them. Half of it are ingredients for hot pot, and half of it are snacks, toiletries, and sundry that everyone needs. The boys had shook their heads when asked to accompany him, except for Yukhei who jumped in and said he wanted a breather from lounging at the dorm anyway.

“How’s it going with Yangyang?” asks Yukhei, slowly pushing the cart out of the cereal and biscuits aisle.

“You know him,” answers Xiaojun, looking over the list one more time before they check out. He feels like he missed a thing or two, though he has pretty much ticked off every item on the list. “He says things he doesn’t mean to push me over the edge.”

“Oh,” Yukhei mutters under his breath. They’re now in the wider lane, passing by rows of shelves stacked with packaged food. At first he hums, then rolls his eyes up and rubs the bridge of his nose before he asks, “Have trouble sleeping lately?”

“Hm?” was the only answer.

Yukhei gets it—that he has to explain the question—so his hand fidgets with the lobe of his right ear and he adds, “Well, Yangyang told me that you’ve been going up and down your deck in the wee hours of the night. It sort of annoys him.”

“Oh, that.” Xiaojun tugs at the cuff of his jacket sleeve and laughs. It’s gentle, deep, and airy.

Yukhei giggles nervously, puzzled, then suggests, “Kun could use some audience for his new little card tricks. Yangyang wouldn’t mind having a room all alone to himself.”

Xiaojun puts a hand on Yukhei’s shoulder and says, “Don’t.”

For some reason, he thinks Yukhei tagged along to talk about this. Maybe the boys have discussed behind his back, because Yangyang is too young to complain and be upfront and Yukhei’s the only one who has the spine for this kind of conversations, where it strikes the right balance between dead serious and tongue-in-cheek. At least it doesn’t drive him up the wall.

While queuing at the counter, Xiaojun leaves Yukhei for a bit, telling him that he had forgotten to buy something. When he comes back, he’s hugging a pint of chocolate ice cream, before adding it to the pile on the pushcart.

“Ice cream?” Yukhei gasps, wide-eyed. He rubs his palms against each other and says, “Perfect! It’s not like we’re already freezing our balls off.”

“I’ll eat it with the chili sauce,” deadpans Xiaojun. He overhears a pair of girls snicker behind them. He’s well aware they’re laughing at Yukhei’s unbridled remark, and not at his lame attempt to fend off Yukhei’s skepticism.

“Something hot and spicy combined with something sweet and cold? Think it goes well together?” Yukhei wonders, a hint of disgust in his voice.

“Who knows,” he mumbles.

 

 

 

There’s only a patch of blue light in the darkness of their room.

Yukhei had pleaded to stroll around the block for one lap before going back. Some five-minute exercise. By the time they’re in the dormitory, Xiaojun’s face is already numb. He catches Yangyang hunched over his computer, and fumbles for the switch. The light bulb flickers for a second before it steadies.

“Here,” whispers Xiaojun in Yangyang’s ear while tousling his hair. He drops the pint of ice cream on the desktop with a thud.

Yangyang doesn’t look away from the screen, but his cheeks go red and warm. He should be bouncing in happiness right now, but it’s odd. He did not demand for a pint of ice cream. It’s like getting an answer to a question he never asked.

“Thanks,” he gulps. His voice almost comes out as a squeak.

“Why, don’t you like it?” Xiaojun sheds his navy blue windbreaker and shoves it back to his closet.

Whenever they stopped by convenience stores or traversed the busy streets of Myeongdong back in their trainee days, Yangyang would always have a lick of ice cream. There was that time the cone slipped from his grasp and hit the pavement with a splat. Xiaojun saw his frustration seep through, stifling like the summer heat, and remembered that they’re still kids, after all. Their hours of training can’t change that.

“It’s just that… is something the matter?” Yangyang guesses. His keyboard goes clack, clack, clack.

“Why, is there?” shoots Xiaojun back. He actually has a smirk on his face, but only because his roommate’s not looking. It’s much easier to be coy when he can get away with it.

Yangyang sighs and tilts his head. His focus on the game is suddenly lost. It hasn’t felt like this since they argued hogging spaces in the room. He has even forgotten about who was at fault. Maybe they didn’t completely resolve it, not that it matters.

“Was it something I said?” Yangyang then turns his chair to look at Xiaojun.

“About what?” Xiaojun snorts while leaning his back against the deck’s ladder.

“I don’t know.” Yangyang rubs his hands over his face, then lets them fall to his sides. His arms are thin through the wide sleeves of his black shirt. “I have no idea when I cross you, because you don’t really get angry. That’s right, you don’t.”

For a moment, the corner of Xiaojun’s mouth twitches, unsure of whether to laugh it off. Sometimes he can’t tell what’s a joke or not between them. That’s the double-edged sword of familiarity, he thinks.

“Go eat your ice cream before it melts,” urges Xiaojun. “You’re thinking too much.”

 

 

 

“Eat well, because we’ve got a long week coming,” Kun says while pouring contents of the hot pot to his bowl. Home cooked meals aren’t rare, but it’s not everyday that they get to prepare a huge one. Most of the time their food are shouldered by the company; they either dine out, or settle with cheap ones like sausages or instant noodles.

Yangyang chuckles, “Alright, grandpa.” This prompts snickers from the rest of the boys.

“What did you say?” Kun pokes back, half kidding.

There’s a surge of heat around the table with them gathering around, shoulders bent over a steamy pot of soup, stove burning under. The walls and floors have been quite cold all over because of the poor insulation, and when days are grim they hardly move out of their rooms and beds, so these meals do glue them together.

“Don’t you guys think it’s going to be underwhelming for our group to be introduced with a song that fans already know?” Hendery asks on a whim. It’s not a big deal, but perhaps he wanted someone from the table to assuage his fear.

“I get your point,” Ten pipes in, simmering a chunk of meat on the pot. “But we can only work on what we’re given, and we can’t hope of anything else but for our fans to support it when it comes out.”

Yukhei blows his soup to cool then says, “We recorded an original track though, so there’s that. But of course, it’s nice if we uphold the anticipation going with our own color.”

“I’d say it’s like giving the song a new flavor,” Winwin chimes in after munching his food. He thinks about the songs he had recorded in Korean, Japanese, and English when he promoted with NCT 127. The same song could still be a distinct sonic experience in a different language.

Kun grins in spite of himself. “It’s the jitters, something we all need to overcome. But it’s good to hear these thoughts, and worries.”

“Let’s just think of it as the song that ties us to the brand and the project. That we belong in something greater, and that we’re a part of something bigger,” Xiaojun adds, for once, dipping a slice of pork into a saucer of chili sauce. “I mean, isn’t that exhilarating?”

And maybe for him, deep down, it’s less to be nervous about, and more to be grateful of. It’s chances like this that comes once in their lives—to debut as a pop idol from a huge agency, to be able to do the thing they’re passionate about, after years of doubt, uncertainty, and toil. This wasn’t his first attempt to break into the industry, and this time, it’s within reach.

“He’s not wrong,” Yangyang comments, lowering his eyes to his plate.

“I guess,” Yukhei agrees after sipping a glass of water. “Anyway have you two talked…?” He averts his gaze between Xiaojun and Yangyang. Their clueless faces nudges his mind to take it for an answer. The boys are waiting for him to continue. He titters shakily and waves a dismissive hand, “No I… I was thinking of something completely unrelated.”

Yukhei diverts the topic by cracking a joke. The table laughs in chorus.

 

 

 

Later, in the deep of the night, Xiaojun clambers down the bunk bed. He slows down, the rungs of the ladder sinking into his soles, careful not to wake Yangyang in his dreamless stupor. But little does he know, Yangyang’s body is aware of the slightest movement the frame makes, like how it knows the choreography to their songs down to a single beat.

Xiaojun reaches the tiled floor without a sound. He listens, to a throbbing pulse. He likes to think it’s coming from somewhere deep below; maybe beneath the ground, the earth heaving on its own. Then he stares down at Yangyang, breathing still under the covers.

He shakes his head and leaves. 

 

 

 

“-unfair, totally unfair.” 

Yangyang is left with Yukhei in the practice room during the snack break. He couldn’t do anything but press Yukhei about it. Because even if he didn’t have to make sense of it, the ice cream sticks to the roof of his mouth and never goes away.

“I told him because I knew you wouldn’t,” Yukhei explains while wiping the sweat off his forehead with a face towel. They’re huddled at one corner, on the leather couch. The waxed floor shines against rows of overhead lights.

“Yukhei _ge_!” Yangyang whines, stomping his shoe and shaking his shoulders in frustration.

“What?” Yukhei looks away and swallows thickly. He’s got a big mouth, he wouldn’t deny that but, “It wasn’t a secret. Besides, Xiaojun just found it amusing. I’d say don’t sweat it, kid.”

“It’s not about him—”

“Of course it’s about him,” Yukhei cuts in, staring back at Yangyang with concern. “I think you owe him a piece of your mind, for a peace of your mind- _Ha!_ Did I just say that?”

Yangyang bites his bottom lip. “I was gonna tell him about it eventually.”

“Both of you are really different,” Yukhei starts, and somehow he finds clarity in the midst of this. “And I bet it’s much obvious to you now that you both share a room. You’re lively, loud, and childlike. He’s calm, thoughtful, and patient. But I’ve seen the way the both of you care for each other, and I know that you have both found your common ground. If you can get past this, then I think it’s a tight friendship you have there.”

Yangyang mulls over this for the rest of the day.

 

 

 

It was at the café in COEX Artium, about two years ago, when they had a proper conversation for the first time.

“I am that guy from X-fire, yes, you’ve asked me about that a couple of times,” Xiaojun had said. It was in their first few months of training, he could barely remember, but Yangyang kept asking the same thing each time they bumped into each other.

Yangyang’s dark hair was reddish brown in the afternoon sunlight. Behind the glass walls the street was silent, and the sky was an unrelenting blue. His irises were hazel brown, touched by the sun, and he wasn’t aware that the boy across him thought that it was a beautiful sight.

“I thought you sing really well,” Yangyang mentioned timidly. His cup of ice cream had begun to melt, and his hands were restless around it. “I heard you once, with the guitar. You’re really cool.”

“Don’t flatter me too much,” deflects Xiaojun. He looked crestfallen for a flicker of a second, swirling his drink with a straw. “I’ve been eliminated once. It can happen again.”

There were so many talented aspirants training with him, and despite of the fat chance that he could debut because the company is churning out more group units in NCT, it’s still hardly reassuring. He couldn’t sit still with his life-long dream and secure future at stake.

“Oh, _come on._ Let’s debut in a group together!” Yangyang bubbled, while he pumped both fists in the air.  _Jia you!_

Then, Xiaojun caved in and softly laughed. “Ah, you’re such a kid, aren’t you?”

“Well, are you not?” Yangyang had asked.

 

 

 

After dinner that evening, Xiaojun and Ten were tasked to wash the dishes. Ten momentarily leaves, hauling a large bag of trash, taking it outside in his woolen sweater. Yangyang goes out of his room, slinks behind Xiaojun, and starts poking his fingertips on his sides.

“Don’t tickle me, you punk,” Xiaojun upbraids in between giggles, gripping the ceramic plate with slippery hands.

Yangyang stops and sidles up beside the older guy. He watches, legs bouncing, as the other scrubs the grime off the plates with a sponge. Soapsuds fill the basin like froth on a mug of beer. He thinks about how Xiaojun’s hands are gentle, and how beautiful his profile looks while concentrating.

“Xiao  _ge_ ,” Yangyang breathes, his lips a bit stiff, “You really didn’t have to do that.”

Xiaojun lifts up his chin and locks his gaze on the younger guy. He blinks. “Do what?”

Yangyang groans.

“What?” Xiaojun snorts, then turns toward the sink and picks up a tall glass. He hasn’t a sliver of idea.

“I know Yukhei _ge_ told you,” Yangyang murmurs with a frown.

The tap hisses. Xiaojun dips his hand into the basin and the water’s cool against his skin. He begins rinsing the dish plates, chopsticks, and glasses. He piles and dries them on a rack. 

“As I said, you’re thinking too much,” grins Xiaojun, the hugest one he has worn in a while.

Yangyang puffs his face, blushing, then holds up a plate, rinsing it under the stream of tap water. He felt like he accomplished nothing. Whatever it is, his roommate seems to be holding back.

Somewhere behind, like a voice that’s far away, Ten yells, “Okay, I’m going to bed.”

 

 

 

The three following nights, Yangyang sleeps undisturbed. They’ve been practicing harder than before, trying to synchronize their movements to the smallest inch and with no room for mistakes. They are knocked out easily at night with the chill weather and sore muscles.

It doesn’t surprise Yangyang, however. His  _gege_ doesn’t really climb down and up his deck religiously, and he thought he blew it into a larger problem than it actually is. There’s a pang of guilt he feels. He hasn’t spoken to Xiaojun about it; he does forget it because they’re busy and tired with the practices. Part of him thinks that the ice cream was meant to make it up to him, and he tried to clear it up once, when they were doing the dishes, but somehow, his tongue got tied.

“Then what is it?” Ten asks him when they’re grabbing snacks at the cafeteria. The other boys are in the comfort room or have chosen to stay in the practice room.

“I don’t know if there’s really nothing to talk about like he says, and I’m just making it worse. Or if I’m dragging this too long, holding back when I shouldn’t,” Yangyang replies, biting his lower lip as they walk to an unoccupied table.

“If you feel that way then there’s probably a misunderstanding,” Ten says, taking his snacks out of the tray.

“There is one, isn’t it?” Yangyang sighs.

Ten sips the soda that fizzes in his tongue, and mutters, “If it were Hendery and I we would’ve settled this sooner than we could blink.”

“This is the first time I’ve walked eggshells around him,” Yangyang says, chips crunching in his mouth. 

“It’s your conscience saying you’ve struck a chord,” Ten remarks.

 

 

 

On the fourth "night" after the uneventful three, Xiaojun goes down his bunk again at the same hour in the morning. As he searches for his slippers with his foot, Yangyang bolts up awake in his bed and tugs his shirt by the hem.

“Sorry, I woke you up again,” Xiaojun frowns. He has wanted to tell him that every time.

Yangyang shakes his head. “No, I… do you need to go now?”

Xiaojun nods, pressing his lips together. “Will you wait for me?”

Yangyang removes his hand from Xiaojun’s shirt and uses it to rub the sleep out of his eyes. “I mean, I’m awake now anyway.”

 

 

 

Later, Yangyang sits beside Xiaojun on his bed, his fists clenched. “First off, I did tell Yukhei _ge_ that it annoyed me,” he begins, exhaling deeply. “But I never suggested to throw you out. _Okay_ , I know I made a mistake of confiding to someone else instead of you about this, but I was just scared I’d piss you off.”

Xiaojun puckers his lips in contemplation, then chortles, “I knew.”

Yangyang grumbles, with his hands over his head, flailing his legs under the covers, “Then why torture me like this?!”

“I didn’t buy the ice cream for consolation,” Xiaojun explains, looking up at Yangyang from his lap. He looks bone-pale with the touch of the moonlight through the window across. “I think you were right about me taking myself too seriously.”

“Xiao _ge—_ ”

“I didn’t want to move rooms. We’re just getting used to living with each other,” Xiaojun admits, fiddling with the blanket. “I want to stay here.”

Thank the dimness, because Yangyang gets flustered over the words that had just spilled from Xiaojun’s mouth. His cheeks are warm. He averts his gaze, to the palm of his hands and tries to stifle a grin that’s fighting to appear. Because even if Xiaojun does things he can’t stand, he doesn’t think of them as a reason to push him away.

A low rumble is heard from Xiaojun’s throat. “It’s been difficult, these long months of training. It still feels unreal.”

“I’d probably consider racing if I didn’t get chosen,” Yangyang chuckles. He muses that doubts could douse the fire within, but it keeps them and the hundred other trainees grounded. The reality is that the idol industry is a neck and neck race between tens and thousands of dreamers, and it’s better to accept sooner that not everyone is cut out for it. “But hey, we could be anyone we want to be.”

“And now we’re here, we’re so close,” Xiaojun croaks. “I couldn’t have done it without you guys around.”

“What, are you going to cry?” Yangyang asks cheekily.

“Yah!” Xiaojun exclaims while nudging the younger’s arm lightly with his elbow. “It is true though, it wasn’t easy. But our hardships have paid off, and that’s what matters at the end of the day. We put our hundred and ten percent into everything.”

Yangyang turns to face him. “I heard someone say it’s going to be harder from here on, but I think there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“As long as we’re together,” whispers Xiaojun, staring back warmly. He’s known Yangyang for long, and he notices the twinkle in his eyes when he said that. It’s acknowledging something he only hopes to be. “There’s nothing I couldn’t hurdle through.”

Two years of friendship, and it’s only going strengthen each time they rise above their differences.

Yangyang shudders. “You’re so sappy, don’t you know?”

Xiaojun, provoked by the remark, leans forward. Yangyang moves away blushing, his hand sinking against the mattress to prop himself up. When Yangyang can no longer lie back, Xiaojun stops, their faces inches apart. Yangyang gulps, and scrunches his eyes close. He suddenly feels hot.

Then, Xiaojun throws his head back in laughter, and ruffles Yangyang’s hair. Embarrassed, Yangyang swats his hand away.

“I told you, you’re thinking too much,” Xiaojun says once again. He leaves the younger guy alone, grinning from ear to ear then clambers up his bunk bed where he will be deep in his sleep that his roommate will have to shake his shoulders to wake him up later on. “Better sleep now, we have to be early.”

“Good night,” Yangyang hums. His face hasn’t cooled down, and he feels like an ice cream melting. He sort of dreads about what could happen between them in the upcoming days, but at least it’s not going to be bad like the past few ones.

Perhaps, he can look forward to these three AMs.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> this is really just a simple conflict that i’ve stretched and complicated because why not, right? anyway, thanks for reading! ♡
> 
> (ps. sorry i had to end it just when the flirting is getting started. i also have no idea about how long they trained and how long they have been friends so i made that up.)


End file.
